


The Conscience of the Queen

by senseofenterprise (the_boleyn_treatment)



Series: Now Cracks a Noble Heart [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (again), Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe-Human, Found Family, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens) (past), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Retirement, Revenge Plot, Swordfighting, feminine pronouns for beelzebub bc I'm lazy, homoerotic swordfighting, ignoring historical homophobia because I can, no beta we die like men, no particular time period, non graphic suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-10-27 02:17:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20752691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_boleyn_treatment/pseuds/senseofenterprise
Summary: Five years have passed since Aziraphale first boarded theBentleyand found love and a family. Five years since he abdicated his throne and decided to live his happily ever after on the arm of Captain Anthony Crowley and surrounded by his beloved crew. Now that Adam is old enough to take over as Captain, Anthony and Aziraphale are looking forward to a peaceful retirement (or they would be if they could agree on what to do). All is set for a happy ending until King Gabriel's widow reappears with a secret and a plot for revenge.The story of what happens after.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's so good to be back in this world. Did you guys anticipate a sequel? Cause I certainly wasn't sure there would be one until I started writing it. Welcome back everyone.

Sunlight poured in through the window, illuminating two bodies–one thin and one soft, but both unclothed–lying pressed close together on top of a straw mattress. The room swayed gently, rocked by the waves that pushed the ship along to its next destination. One of the bodies, the leaner one, began to stir when the light landed in his eyes, and his companion pressed his face deeper into the lean neck, a silent refusal to succumb to the whims of the sunlight.

The thin one, Captain Anthony Crowley, opened his eyes briefly before throwing his arm across his face in an attempt to block out the sunbeams. He grumbled softly, taking a moment to adjust to the light before moving his hand to run his fingers along the soft, pale arm that was thrown over his chest. “Angel,” he whispered, voice breaking from disuse in the night, “Aziraphale sweetheart it’s time to get up.”

Aziraphale, the companion, grabbed the edge blanket from where it rested on their hips and tugged it up to cover his head and block out the sun. He mumbled something incoherent but clearly grumpy and Crowley couldn’t help but laugh in response. “I know you want to keep sleeping, but we really do need to get up.” Moving his fingers away from Aziraphale’s arm, he moved the blanket away from his husband’s head and threw it back so they’d both be uncovered. “Got to get the fires stoked and all. Sailing to do, teenagers to feed. Be careful, they’ll riot if you don’t get up.”

“As if Warlock isn’t completely capable of making breakfast without me,” Aziraphale said, finally sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

Now unhindered by the weight of his husband on his chest, Crowley sat upright and began pressing soft kisses to Aziraphale’s pale shoulders. A delighted smile was his payment in kind. “I’m sure he’s completely capable, but you’ll be mad at me later if I throw off your schedule now.” He moved his lips away and replaced them with his hands, gently rubbing the tension out of the shoulders.

“I won’t be mad, I’m never mad at you,” he chided, leaning back into the touch and groaning softly at how marvelous it felt. “I just get displeased when I spend a whole day being completely unproductive and usually you and those marvelous hands of yours are the cause of it.”

“Tomato, potato, Angel.”

“Those are two completely different plants, Anthony.”

“Are they? I hadn’t noticed.” He pulled his hands away from his shoulders and used one to bring Aziraphale’s chin closer before joining their lips in a sweet morning kiss which was very happily reciprocated. When they pulled away he pressed one more kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead then stood to get up and find his pants, turning pink in the cheeks at Aziraphale’s cheeky remark about “preferring the view without them.”  
\--

The days were recorded in tick marks carved into the wall of the brig. Sawdust fell to the floor as Aziraphale knelt down and scratched in a new one, the one thousand, seven hundred, and sixty-seventh of its kind. Aziraphale put his knife back into its sheath and looked at the marks thoughtfully. One thousand, seven hundred, and sixty seven days since he had first boarded the _Bentley,_ just a few weeks short of five years. Almost half a decade ago now he had been brought on the ship with only his tutor Anathema and the pajamas he was wearing when he was taken. So much had changed in those five years.

Aziraphale had gone from a second-born prince about to be forced into marriage to a pirate captain’s hostage to a pirate captain’s spouse to a respected king and back to being the captain’s spouse. And that was all in the course of a few months. For the last four and a half years, he had been on board the _Bentley_ standing proudly at Crowley’s side and going on adventures with him wherever he wished to go. Crowley had changed too, of course. Upon discovering his own royal heritage (and then denouncing it at the same time Aziraphale denounced his own), he was much more open to collaborating with the heads of kingdoms whereas before he would have seen them all beheaded. The captain and his spouse now often did the occasional ambassadorial work for the Queen of Arcadia-Inferna, just as a favor between friends. 

The Queen and Prince-consort were close friends after all. Aziraphale’s initial impression had been correct–his ex-fiancé made a wonderful friend under different circumstances. They had reconnected at his recent wedding to Anathema, Aziraphale’s dearest friend and heir to his abdicated throne. While he had wanted to rule, he knew that Crowley wasn’t ready to give up the ship, nor was Adam ready to take it, and Anathema would be a far better ruler than Aziraphale ever would have been. And she was. In the four years she’d been the monarch, Arcadia-Inferna came to peace for the first time in decades. Poverty plummeted, and so did their debt. Everything she did was beneficial to the lower classes and even Crowley praised her for her politics. Aziraphale only hoped she didn’t make too many enemies among the nobles used to Gabriel’s extravagant way of life.

The biggest change of all was the most gradual one. In the five years Aziraphale had been on board the _Bentley,_ he’d watched the crew grow from children into adolescents and now into young adults. Nothing at all could have prepared him for handling four adolescent boys and one girl (oh lord how Pepper had been a challenge to the two very male parental figures) but now the end was in sight and they would all survive it. In three short weeks, Adam would turn sixteen. According to tradition, he’d then be ready to take the reigns and become Captain Crowley, and Anthony and Aziraphale would retire. Despite barely having reached thirty-three, Aziraphale found himself quite excited over the idea of retiring, just as soon as he and Anthony agreed on what they would do.

Rising up from the floor, Aziraphale brushed off the sawdust from the knees of his breeches and made his way from the brig to the kitchen. As was the case most mornings, Warlock had beaten him in and was already adding coal to the fire. His dark, pin-straight hair was swept up off his shoulders with a ribbon that was already sliding out from the complete lack of texture in his hair. He brushed his hands clean on a rag and turned, greeting Aziraphale with a smile. “Morning. Sleep well?”

“Not too terribly,” he replied, sweeping the boy (oh how tall and lanky he was now) in for a brief hug. “What are we making this morning my dear?”

“There’s flour and potatoes in the pantry, I was thinking we could make latkes and then there’s plenty of fruit from the last restock and some dried beef I think too,” he wandered into the pantry as he spoke, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but chuckle as he carried on reciting recipes as he picked up ingredients.

“Whatever you think sounds best, my boy, that’s what we’ll do. I’m not sure we’ll get around to making a proper lunch today, so it’s better to fill them up now, yes?”

Warlock set his haul down on the counter. “Exactly.”

The two of them got to work, moving in tandem as they had every day, three times a day, for the last five years. Between the two of them, the kitchen had become a well-oiled machine of mixing and chopping and stoking the fire and dropping bits for Dog whenever he happened to walk in. While he stood at the counter cutting potatoes, Aziraphale looked out of the corner of his eye and watched Warlock beat eggs (the acquisition of a hen had been Aziraphale’s idea, thank you very much). Aziraphale loved all of the children on the _Bentley_ of course. They were his family now. But he had always had a special place in his heart for Warlock. The boy was the first of the crew to accept Aziraphale and had helped the others to warm up to him in time. He also shared the experience of being left behind and ignored by powerful family members and running away to find love and a real family among Captain Crowley’s crew. They’d bonded instantly.

Sometimes when he closed his eyes, Aziraphale saw Warlock pinned under his brother Gabriel’s boot, the man raising his sword ready to kill an innocent child because Aziraphale wanted to be the master of his own life. He saw it in his dreams: his own hand wrapped around the sword he had driven into his brother. The drops of blood falling to the deck. On the worst nights, he didn’t move fast enough, and it was Warlock’s blood on the deck. On those nights, he would wake Anthony and the both of them would sip on something until he felt capable of speech again. Needless to say, he felt quite protective of the boy.

He was so tall now; all skin and bone much like Crowley was. He stood the same height as Aziraphale now, but he could see one more growth spurt on the horizon. His hair fell past his sharp jawline to his shoulders, and as much as Warlock tried to keep it pulled up, most days it simply refused to grab on to the ribbon and would slip right out within a few minutes. He dressed in the same blouse and breeches as the rest of the crew, but with the addition of a belt sitting at his tiny waist and making the shirt flow to contrast the angles of his body. In a word, he was a beauty, and with time he would become only more so.

They continued to work in companionable silence for a while, not needing more than the occasional gesture to communicate when they needed the other to do something. Once breakfast was in the oven, Warlock hopped up and sat on the counter while Aziraphale began washing up. “So,” Warlock hedged, “three more weeks until retirement.”

“Three more weeks,” Aziraphale nodded. “I admit I’m both excited and a bit frazzled. I know you’re all quite old enough to take care of yourselves, but you know how I worry about you.”

Warlock nodded, his long legs swinging in the air. He still looked so young when he did that. “Have you and the captain decided where you’re going to go yet?”

“Not quite,” he admitted. “He’s picked out quite the beautiful little beachside village, but I’m not quite sure I’m ready to truly retire. We’re still quite young, after all. And I think we’d be more valuable going home and seeking a position with Anathema. Do the most good, you understand.”

“Wasn’t that the original plan? The two of you stay here until Adam’s ready then go back and do your jobs as kings?”

“Well not as kings. Anathema’s got the monarch role quite under control, and we wouldn’t want to go and mess with that any more than we already have. But some kind of position; ambassadorial or in the cabinet or whatever she sees fit.”

“So what changed?”

Aziraphale looked out the door to make sure he wasn’t overheard. “To be quite honest with you, I think he’s afraid. It may be a world I’m used to and one he was born into, but it’s quite a different way of life for him and he’s got a lifetime of internalized hatred to work through. It may be better if we spend a few years on our own before returning, but I would like to do so at some point.” 

Warlock, bit at a hangnail, earning a teasing whack with a towel from Aziraphale after he finished drying dishes. “But that’s not something to worry you with. Have you put any thought into what you’re going to do? Are you going to stay or start up on your own?”

“Adam’s already asked all of us to stay. At least for the first few years while he gets settled.”

“That’s not the traditional choice from my understanding.”

“No,” he sighed. “And he hasn’t cleared it with the captain yet, but all of us have said yes. So it’ll still be the two–I mean five of us.” He turned pink at the cheeks, and Aziraphale pretended not to notice.

“I think that’s a wise choice,” he said, turning away from the boy. “Stay together. You’re all so close as it is, and that way there’s no rush to decide what you want to do.”

“Yeah,” Warlock said, jumping down from the counter when he heard the sound of voices entering the mess. “I’ll pull the latkes. You go set the table.”

Aziraphale nodded and gathered up dishes before taking them out into the mess. Everyone had gathered already, Adam and Wensely talking excitedly about something or other while Brian sat with his head resting sleepily on the table and Pepper stood opposite Captain Crowley sitting on top of the table discussing the best way to combat the wind they were facing that morning. Aziraphale swept up behind Crowley and used his free hand to pinch his bottom, earning a surprised yelp from the fierce captain. “Off the table, Darling, we eat there.”

“No need to be violent about it,” Crowley said, rubbing the spot where he had been pinched as he got to his feet. Aziraphale set the stack of dishes down and swept him into a kiss. 

“Stop whining or I’ll make you wash dishes after breakfast. Pepper, give me a hand with the plates. Wensely darling go fetch the coffee for me?”

“I’ll get it!” Adam piped up, and half-ran into the kitchen with a large, puppy-like grin on his face. Crowley and Aziraphale shared a knowing glance with each other, trying and failing not to chuckle at the display. They got the table set and Crowley walked up behind Brian, placing a gentle pat on his shoulder.

“Coffee’s coming, sit up in the meantime, yeah?”

“Sorry Captain,” he mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he sat up. “Only someone was up all night talking on the other side of my wall,” he said, looking pointedly at the kitchen where the mutual laughter of Adam and Warlock was emerging like a melody.

“I’ll talk to them later,” Crowley assured him. “Coffee for now and I’ll try to find you some time later to sneak away and have a nap.”

Brian nodded and Crowley squeezed his shoulder before sitting at his place at the head of the table. The rest of the crew settled into their places and eventually Warlock and Adam emerged with breakfast and coffee, still chattering away with each other. They quieted down when they sat at opposite ends of the table, Warlock at the foot by Pepper, Brian, and Wensley and Adam at the head next to Crowley and Aziraphale. 

Adam got a bright sunny smile from Aziraphale who took his plate and filled it up for him. “Good morning my dear. Sleep well?”

“Pretty well,” he lied, thanking Aziraphale when he took the plate back from him. He watched as he took plates from everyone, making sure they would all be well-fed. Aziraphale had more than settled into his role as ship mother, and Adam knew they’d all have to adapt to life without him. While they had certainly not started as the best of friends, Adam had grown to respect Aziraphale, especially after watching him choose to give up his power for the sake of Anthony’s happiness. As long as he made Anthony happy, Adam would allow Aziraphale a place in his own heart. “Warlock and I were talking, and we were wondering if you’d referee a duel later. Give us some tips.”

“Of course Adam,” he smiled, giving Crowley another knowing glance. “Whenever you’re ready just come get me and I’d be more than happy to.”

“Thanks, Aziraphale,” he smiled, not-so-subtly dropping some of his breakfast to the floor for Dog to eat under the table.

\--

“Lean more on your back leg,” Aziraphale called out from his spot on the upper deck. “There you go Warlock. Tighten your grip Adam. That’s it!” 

Silver flashed against silver as Warlock took the advantage, feet light as he stepped towards Adam. Each blow came quick, but Adam blocked each one with ease. A smirk rested on his features and he tossed his head to move his hair out of his eyes before stepping aside to dodge a blow and take the advantage once again while Warlock recovered. “Watch out, I’m unpredictable.”

“You’re an idiot is what you are,” Warlock laughed, stepping back away from Adam’s strikes with quick feet. Neither of them was taking it particularly seriously, despite having asked Aziraphale for tips. It was an excuse to spend time together. Show off and pretend to be slick and flirt under the guise of trash talking. Example?

“You know if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were a girl considering how pretty you are and the fact that you fight like one,” Adam quipped. 

“What the **FUCK** is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing Pepper!” They both piped up, grins flashing. Warlock took advantage of Adam’s distraction to duck and throw him off, feet quick as lightning as he circled Adam and attacked him from a new angle, causing Adam to stumble as he began stepping backwards. “And if I didn’t know any better I’d say you haven’t learned anything from sparring with me. Learn better, shorty. Long legs have the advantage.”

“Is that why the Captain loses to Aziraphale every time?”

“He just needs a little more training.”

“I heard that!” Crowley called out, taking a seat next to Aziraphale on the upper deck. “And you both suck!”

Aziraphale gave a little chuckle and took Crowley’s hand at the wrist, pressing a kiss to the scar on the palm of his hand; the scar Aziraphale had given him in their first duel. “Don’t mind him! Adam bend your knees more. Watch his feet. Better!” He turned and rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder, and Crowley laced their fingers together. “Is everything alright, darling?”

“Perfect, Angel,” he nodded, pressing a kiss into Aziraphale’s curls. Both of them watched the boys fight, enjoying the rare quiet moment together in the middle of the day. “They’re doing well, both of them. Much better than I was at that age.”

“Much better than you were last week,” Aziraphale grinned cheekily.

“If you’re gonna make fun of me I’ll leave,” Crowley laughed, and both of them knew he didn’t mean a word of it. They settled back into companionable silence, Crowley’s thumb brushing soft shapes into the back of Aziraphale’s hand and neither of them speaking except to call out the occasional pointer to the boys. 

It was only after “Oi, Adam, stop flirting and focus on what he’s gonna do next!” And a fit of giggles that the silence lapsed. “Stars above I’m handing my ship over to a bunch of hormonal adolescents, what am I thinking?” Crowley snorted.

“Puppy love or no, he’s ready,” Aziraphale said, curling up closer to his husband. “He’ll know when it’s time to be serious and do his job. And he’ll do well, especially if he has his friends to help him transition.”

“They’re all staying then?”

“Warlock said he asked them to, he just wants to clear it with you.”

“He doesn’t need to do that; it’ll be his ship and he can do whatever he likes with it.”

“I don’t think anything is a matter of needing your approval with him. He just wants it. He practically worships you and he wants to do you proud.” Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s left one and looked up at him. “A thousand years could pass and he would still be your boy through and through. And I think you should let go of your silly ‘no seeing him after the handover’ rule.”

“It’s the tradition, Angel.”

“The tradition also says Captain Crowley can’t be married but you threw that one out of the window,” he reminded him, voice deadpan. “Adam is your son, Anthony. Maybe not biologically, but he is your son. And I’d like him to come visit us after we retire. No matter where we end up.”

Crowley tensed at the sudden shift back to their ongoing disagreement. “Aziraphale I’m ready to spend my days somewhere quiet enjoying my garden and waking up next to you in the morning. I know you feel like you need to help but I’m never going to fit in with your world. And besides, won’t our being there threaten Anathema’s position?”

“We’ve abdicated, Anthony. And besides that, I pissed off quite a few people when I assassinated my own brother. Trust me, nobody wants to put me back on a throne.”

“Alright but even so, why can’t we just enjoy being old and married tucked away somewhere peaceful where there’s no expectations for either of us?”

“Because we aren’t old. We’re hardly retirement age. There’s still plenty of time for us to go out and do what we can to help people.”

“Why can’t we do that in a small town? Or even a city in another kingdom. Just anywhere where there aren’t people expecting me to jump onto a throne just because of my parentage.”

“My darling,” Aziraphale sighed, taking Crowley’s hands in his own and looking into his eyes. “If you really feel that strongly about it, I won’t push. If you aren’t ready, then you aren’t ready. Why don’t we table this for now? Get through the handover, spend some time together just the two of us, then revisit it in a few months.”

Crowley let out a breath and tension visibly melted from his shoulders. “Yeah. Let’s do that.” 

Aziraphale cupped the side of his face and stroked his cheek with his thumb, looking into those beloved, adored yellow eyes. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Angel,” Crowley said, feeling suddenly overwhelmed and letting his eyes close.

Aziraphale leaned up and gave him a quick peck before turning back to the duel below him. “Adam, you have to be blind to have not seen that dodge coming! Focus!”

\--

“So,” Crowley said, pouring whiskey into two tumblers, “You want all of them to stay on?”

“Yeah,” Adam said, taking his tumbler and sitting in the chair pulled up to Crowley’s desk. “At first, at least. While I get settled. I’m not ready to start with a whole new crew from scratch, I need a few years to get my footing before it’s just me.” He tapped his fingernails nervously against the glass, and Crowley waved him off.

“I know you were too young to remember, but the first few years after I took over, I kept on some of my original crew. They were all younger than me, so they still had some growing up to do, but they were helpful while I was adjusting. If you want your friends to stay on a while, that’s fine by me. But really, you don’t need my permission. It’ll be your ship, you can do whatever you like with it.”

“I know that, I think. I dunno, they’re just big boots to fill.”

“I know they are,” Crowley said, settling into his chair with his whiskey, “but you’re ready. You’ve got a good heart, which is the main thing. But you also know when to do what needs to be done, which is the main thing.”

Adam nodded and took a sip of his drink. “Having an experienced crew I think will help too.”

“It will. Especially this one. Pepper will keep you in line if nothing else,” he grinned, and Adam laughed

“Sometimes I wonder if she shouldn’t be captain instead,” he joked. “Not that she wants it.”

“I don’t know about that. She might find a ship of her own one day,” Crowley said, propping his feet up on the desk. 

“Maybe.” He looked down at his drink, unsure of how to broach what he wanted to say next. Crowley noticed this, and just stayed quiet to give him the opportunity. 

“Even if they just stay for a few years what if I keep someone on board more um... more permanently? Like Aziraphale?” He said, finally.

Crowley settled back in his chair and tried to push down the smile coming to his lips. “Well I did it so it would be pretty hypocritical of me to say you couldn’t.”

Adam nodded and took another sip of his drink, still not looking up at Crowley. “Only it’s just that Pepper and Brian and Wensely will probably want their own lives at some point but say if Warlock wanted to stay... longer? Not that he probably would, but–“

Taking a deep breath, Crowley set his tumbler on his desk, then put his feet on the floor and leaned in closer to his first. “Adam listen to me. If you ask him, I am positive that he would agree to it. But you’re young. There’s no rush to plan forever right now, yeah? Go out there, tell him how you feel, but don’t ask him to stay forever right now. Ease up to that. For now just ask him to stay for a while like everyone else. And if it does come to something more permanent in the long run, just know you’re in the new, way superior tradition of Captain Crowley not being a lonely bastard.”

Adam nodded and downed the rest of his drink. “Thanks Captain,” he said, putting the empty tumbler down on his desk. “I’m gonna miss our talks like this.” 

“Me too, Adam,” Crowley said, getting to his feet. “We should probably go into dinner, yeah?”

“Right.”

\--

Aziraphale didn’t even look up from the carrot he was peeling. “Warlock dear of course I know you’re in love with Adam, it’s as plain as the day. And it’s just as plain that he feels the same way back. After dinner, take him aside and tell him.”

“That’s rich coming from ‘oh no Crowley I could live my whole life without love but I’m going to almost kiss you anyway.’”

“Yes well I technically still had a fiancé at that point, I was allowed to be an idiot. You’re young and unattached. Just tell him. And do it tonight, or I’ll do it for you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Warlock laughed.

“Wouldn’t I?” Aziraphale smiled, still focused on his carrot.

“Yeah, you would.” 

“Exactly. Now hand me that knife.”

\--

It was one of the nights where they all stayed together after dinner, sprawling out on the deck and passing around a bottle of wine. The teenagers laid on top of each other in a pile, staring up at the stars and Aziraphale sat against the wall, Crowley sitting between his legs while Aziraphale braided his hair. He hummed while he worked, tuning out the conversation to focus on what his fingers were doing. Crowley leaned his head back, savoring the touch. “Actually guys, you’re all wrong. The hydra is completely real, and I have personally fought one.”

“Before or after hitting the drink?” Pepper asked, and the boys laughed.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I’ve never had alcohol in my life,” he said, taking a sip from the wine bottle. “There I was on this very ship, face to face with a five headed beast and only a sword to protect me.”

“How did you take it out then?” Warlock asked. They all knew this story; it was one that the captain told them often on nights like this, though less often now that they were older.”

“Easily. Once I realized that cutting off the head would do nothing, I simply seduced the monster and convinced it I would follow it to the bottom of the sea as soon as I found a suitable wedding present. It’s still waiting for me there to this day. You were there Adam, you remember, right?”

“Oh clear as day,” Adam laughed, playing along. “What are you gonna do when it swims to the surface and finds you’re already married, though?”

“I’m just gonna promise it that I’ll marry it as soon as I can secure a divorce.”

“Oh are you?” Aziraphale asked, his tone warning. A roaring laugh emerged from the pile of teenagers and Crowley melted into Aziraphale’s hold.

“Oh Angel, you know you’re the only one for me but I’m afraid I’m honor-bound to marry the hydra. You can still be my mistress, though.”

“What a privilege,” Aziraphale laughed, relaxing. He wrapped his arms protectively around Crowley’s middle and nipped his earlobe, delighting in the surprised yelp it earned him. “Ready for bed?”

“I think so,” he turned and gave him a quick peck before getting to his feet and handing the wine bottle off to Pepper. “Don’t stay up too late. Goodnight, guys.”

“Sleep well,” Aziraphale chimed, getting up after Crowley and taking his hand.

The crew mumbled out a chorus of ‘goodnight’s and watched the Captain and his better half go off to bed. After that, it wasn’t long before they began heading for bed themselves, Wensely first then Brian and Pepper last, relinquishing hold of the wine bottle to Adam. He took a long swig then handed it off to Warlock to drain. The empty bottle forgotten, they both laid back flat on the deck, staring up at the stars.

“I don’t understand why anyone would ever want to live in a town,” Adam said, breaking the silence, “when you could live surrounded by endless sea and endless sky.”

“People are stupid,” Warlock declared. “When I was still living at my parents’ estate there would be these super lavish balls. And it would just be rich people drinking and eating and whoring it up and being loud and I hated it. I would be surrounded by people and yet feel so lonely because they shoved me upstairs with nanny and told me to be silent. But out here? It’s quiet. We can just _exist,_ and we all know each other and love each other and want to listen to what everyone has to say. People actually care about what I want to say. Or I think they do at least.”

“I do,” Adam said, his anxiety having gone when the wine did. “I care about what you have to say. And I want to just exist with you. Away from all the stupid people.”

Warlock turned his head to face him, and Adam did the same, their eyes meeting. Adam’s eyes reflected the light of the stars above them, and Warlock found himself getting lost in them, trying to find the constellations in them.

Neither of them knew who made the first move, but their hands brushed together, and their lips followed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every story has two sides. This is the story of a Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. This chapter took forever. Life got really crazy all of a sudden and I've been spending almost all of my free time dealing with family crises. I wasn't even gonna work on this until after the High Holidays, but I got froggy tonight and picked up the second half of it. I hope you guys enjoy it <3

It was supposed to be a joyful occasion, the birth of her cousin. She knew her uncle and his wife had yearned for a child for years, both for the sake of securing their dynasty and just for the sake of having a child. A prince would have been preferable but at this point they were desperate enough to accept whatever child God found fit to send them.

Except for the one they received, of course.

Beelzebub was never supposed to be a monarch. She was the only child of the King’s sister, and a girl at that. She was set for a comfortable but ultimately unimportant life as a member of the royal family, and as a child she was quite content with that. Then the plans changed quite suddenly. 

At six years old, she watched in horror as her newborn cousin, still pink and wailing, was dropped suddenly by his father when his eyes fluttered open for the first time. She couldn’t see what was wrong, but the gasps coming from the adult in the room were certainly a sign that it was nothing good. The queen scrambled to catch the baby and hold him close to her chest as the king, her Uncle Raphael, turned frightfully pale and filled with a silent rage. 

_”That’s no child, it’s the spawn of devils,” he’d said, the memory ingrained into Beelzebub’s mind. ”An unholy demon, a-a monster. I want it out of my castle, now. No, not just the castle. I want it disposed of. Sent back to Hell where it came from.” He swept out of the room and all but the queen and the midwife followed. Beelzebub’s mother grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her out of the room, but she managed to catch a glimpse of the baby, enraptured by his dusting of copper curls and the bright yellow eyes that were fixed on the face of his sobbing mother as she clutched him desperately to her chest._

No, she was hardly the traditional choice for a king’s heir, but desperate circumstances required it. After the baby prince had been killed, it had only taken a few weeks for the queen to follow him to the grave. Heartbreak, Beelzebub’s mother had told her. Her father had scoffed and said it was her own doing. Punishment for consorting with demons in a desperate attempt to get a child. That she was never a worthy wife; barren as punishment for her sins and only capable of conceiving with the use of witchcraft and demonic powers.

People said a lot of that sort of thing about the queen when Beelzebub was growing up. It seemed quite unfair to her. The queen had always seemed nice to her, but adults were to be listened to. And she had seen the baby’s eyes herself. They were quite like the eyes of the snakes her father liked to trap and stuff for decoration at home. Certainly not human. She trusted her parents, and if they said the baby was hell-spawn, then that must be the truth. 

So she was placed in line for the throne. Her mother was technically ahead of her, but plague had taken her when Beelzebub was thirteen. Then her father fell hunting and broke his neck. At fourteen, she was placed in the care of her uncle the king. She could still remember the days in her childhood when he had been kind. Affectionate even. But the years had hardened him into a scornful, wretched man and a cruel ruler. There were events that occurred at his hand during this time that she preferred not to let surface in her mind.

The alliance came when she was sixteen. The king’s way of life–gambling, drinking, soliciting whores–had put the kingdom into quite a bit of debt. 

_”Beelzebub.”_

_“Yes, Uncle?” She replied, dipping into a low curtsey. She stood in the doorway of his study, unsure of why she had been summoned and waiting for him to proceed. She rocked on her heels out of nervousness and began to formulate an escape plan should she need it._

_“As soon as we can settle on a dowry, you’re to be married.”_

_That wasn’t what she had expected when he’d called for her, and her brow furrowed as she contemplated it. “Married?”_

_“Unclog your ears. And stand up straighter,” he growled, and Beelzebub snapped to attention, gaze fixing on the wall and her face clearing of any emotion one way or the other._

_“May I ask who to, your majesty?”_

_“The son of the king of Arcadia. Gabriel, his name is.”_

_“Yes sir, I remember him from the council to discuss the fat stock.”_

_“I’ll tell you when we set a date.”_

_She opened her mouth to speak further–ask for more information, request a meeting, ask what had brought this on–but opted instead to nod silently and bow her head. “Yes sir. Will that be all?” Unbothered to speak to her, he waved his hand in her general direction and she swept into another curtsey before turning and leaving the study to go contemplate the development in isolation. _

_A week prior to the wedding, the King and Queen of Arcadia had put on a banquet to invite Beelzebub into their family. That was the guise at least. At its core it was a way for the couple to meet properly under the watchful eye of their guardians. The horn sounded, heralding her arrival, and she swept into the great hall stepping just behind her uncle. At the sight of the King and Queen standing in the center of the room, she approached slowly and fell in a low, graceful curtsey._

_“Your majesties,” she whispered, attempting to put on a demure facade. She glanced upwards and caught the eye of Prince Gabriel, who was watching her with a bemused smirk. Clearly, he saw right through her._

_“My dear child,” the Queen said, smile curling at her lips. Beelzebub rose to her feet and looked at her. “You’re very welcome here, we’re pleased to meet you at last. We’ve heard so much about you from your uncle.”_

_“You flatter me, your majesty.”_

_The Queen’s smile was kind and gentle, the polar opposite of the scowl that pulled at her husband’s features. Beelzebub made a mental note to never find herself on his bad side. “Allow me to introduce my son,” the Queen said, and she took Beelzebub by the hand to lead her to the back wall. Her touch was warm and maternal, something that Beelzebub hadn’t felt since her mother had died three years prior. It almost made her flinch. “Gabriel, this is the Lady Beelzebub of Inferna. Beelzebub, this is Prince Gabriel,” She said, still beaming as she let go of her hand. _

_Gabriel caught it before it fell and brought it to his lips, then pressed a cold, formal kiss to her knuckles. Beelzebub looked up at him (he was tall; much taller than she was) and took in his features. He looked much the same as his portrait. His features seemed to be constantly cool, his eyes always held an air of calculation. But he was young, having just turned nineteen, and he was quite handsome. He had a jawline as sharp as his gaze and his dark hair fell in his eyes but was cut short enough in the back to show off his pale, unblemished neck. _

_“Your highness,” she said as soon as she finished her inventory and found her words again. “It is an honor.” Each word was careful, formulated from years of court life and training from her uncle and governess. _

_“Indeed, it’s an honor for me as well, your Grace. Welcome to Arcadia, I hope you find the palace to be to your tastes.” It was a test. An opportunity for her to slip up and say the wrong thing that he could use against her, and she could see it from a mile away._

_Lips turning up into her tight courtier smile, she gazed directly into his eyes. So, this was going to be a battle as well as a marriage, was it? Good. She would be prepared. “Indeed my lord, I find it quite beautiful. I shall endeavor to prove worthy of the chance to call it home.”_

_His lip twitched into an almost-smile for just a second before returning to placidity. “I’m sure you will.” He glanced her up and down just as she had done to him, and she knew he was forming his own assumption in his mind. The gown she was wearing had been washed and pressed to within an inch of its life. The jewels in her earlobes and dangling from her neck had been carefully chosen. Her long, black hair was pulled up with simple braids, showing her status as a noblewoman but being demure enough to befit an unmarried girl with the added perk of showing off the pale, flawless skin of her neck and sharp cheekbones. She closed her eyes for half of a second, praying silently that she sat perfectly on the line between being unpresentable and being vain._

_There was a rustling and her eyes fixed on the sudden appearance of a child being held still by his nursemaid. He had soft blonde curls and was dressed in a creamy doublet as well as matched dark brown trousers and coattails. He was slouching, but he stood stiffly when pinched by the nursemaid. Gabriel’s features darkened for just a moment before returning to cold calmness. _

_“Lady Beelzebub, may I introduce my younger brother, Prince Aziraphale?” He gestured to the boy who looked up suddenly when he realized he was being talked about. Beelzebub finally got a good look at his face and discerned that he was about eight, maybe nine. Not much younger than her cousin would have–_

_She shook the thought from her mind and gave the boy a smile that she hoped looked warm, but she was altogether under too much duress from meeting the King and Gabriel for it to be sincere. Facing him, she swept into a curtsey, landing about eye level with him. “You highness,” she said, and her heart warmed just a bit to hear him giggle with delight._

_“It’s very nice to meet you,” he said._

_“And you as well,” she replied, straightening up again. “Will you be joining us for dinner?”_

_Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak but Gabriel cut him off. “No. The nurse will be taking him upstairs now,” he said, and with the words spoken, the nursemaid took the boy by the hand and led him back upstairs. Aziraphale waved at his mother and Beelzebub as he climbed the stairs, and the Queen waved back with a soft smile. Gabriel cleared his throat and Beelzebub turned back to face him, her features turning cool once more. “May I show you in to dinner?” Gabriel asked. _

_“I would be delighted if you would,” she replied, her plastic courtier smile firmly in place. She took his arm when he offered it and swept into the dining room following her Uncle and Gabriel’s parents.  
_

There was no love, but there was a duty to be done and they both believed in it. The marriage was for the mutual benefit of their kingdoms: to build armies, to pull Inferna out of debt, and most importantly, to produce heirs to keep their respective families firmly on their thrones. The pressure wasn’t high at first, instructed simply to get to know one another and decide where they wanted to establish residency until one of them would be called upon to rule. The need to conceive was always in the back of her mind, and while it was not at the forefront of her priorities in the first few months of her marriage, the required effort was made often enough to appease the interested parties.

Then it all changed quite suddenly when four months into her marriage, Beelzebub’s uncle died out of the blue. His physician sent a report assuming that it was an excess of drink that killed him. Sixteen years old and newly married to a man she wasn’t quite certain she even _tolerated_ yet, Beelzebub packed her cases, had Gabriel do the same, and returned to Inferna to be coronated as their Queen.

Despite her formal training, settling into her new role as monarch was much more difficult than she had ever anticipated. Her uncle had left her mess upon mess to clean up. Cabinets needed to be re-chosen, ordinances needed to be implemented, debts needed to be paid, and infrastructure needed to be attended to. Her first gratitude was that her uncle had not had access to the funds that came with her marriage–those were safely set aside until she came into power for herself. It helped to chisel away the debt, but once everything was settled the two of them were left living in a rather shabby castle with insufficient staff, and Gabriel made it **quite** clear that it was not up to his standards, and they would be borrowing enough money from his parents for them to get their start. And she was grateful for that, she supposed. Having the staff necessary to live in separate rooms was exceptionally nice, as it gave her some of the isolation she was used to whenever Gabriel began to grate on her nerves.

Which he did. Constantly. Beelzebub learned very early on that Gabriel was pompous and arrogant; quick to anger and slow to forgiveness. Prone to demanding his way and taking his frustration out on his brother even when it was unwarranted. He criticized everything about her, from her household organization to her political strategy to the way she styled her hair. She found herself constantly set on edge whenever he swept into a room and placed a cold, cordial kiss on her cheek. Still, she was grateful for his financial and political aid, and she took quite a bit of satisfaction from the fact that she ranked over him.

At least, she did until it was no longer the case. 

Gabriel’s father had died quite suddenly: killed in battle. Suddenly, they were re-packing and returning to Arcadia to make it their permanent residence. Another coronation occurred, then they were muddling through the process of joining their separate kingdoms into one joint domain of which they would be the respective sovereigns. Gabriel had brought up briefly the idea of him becoming the monarch of them both, (after all, it was his kingdom’s money that kept Inferna from crumbling completely) but on that matter, Beelzebub had put her foot down quite firmly and threatened to live independently from him.

Maybe that would have solved their issues, but if there was one thing Gabriel feared most, it was a scandal. And at twenty, he felt quite young to be involved in one of that degree. Besides, a year into their marriage, they had yet to produce an heir, and it would be quite useless to set aside a wife who hadn’t fulfilled her duty yet. Perhaps it was the sudden pressure to do so that brought them closer in the months that followed, or perhaps it was simply the stress of ruling that pushed them together. Gabriel’s mother had reclused herself following the death of her husband, and both of them found their spouse to be quite the only person around that understood the stress of ruling. 

Every so often, in the early days, there would be a rare moment of kindness between them. A passing element of tenderness where one of them would compliment the other on a good idea or they handled a joint venture well. Even without a romantic element, they worked well together and very quickly learned how the other thought, even if they would then turn and use it against them when it was necessary to bring the other down a peg.

Above all, they just wanted security for their dynasty. Gabriel’s father had had to fight for his place on the throne, and Beelzebub knew firsthand how important it was to establish an heir as quickly as possible. So despite their general disdain for each other during the day, nightfall would find them in the same bed, sometimes lying in each other’s arms, praying fervently for a child.

_”One day,” Gabriel said one night a few years into the marriage, the fire roaring nearby and trying desperately to fill the room with warmth. The fact that they were curled up close under the blanket had nothing to do with emotions and everything to do with the fact that it was the dead of winter and they were both freezing. “One day, our prayers will be answered. And our son will be the King.”_

_“Our daughter will be Queen,” Beelzebub replied, snark heavy in her voice even as she pressed her face into his shoulder._

_“I don’t see any reason why that would happen when our son will be the monarch.”_

_“Why would I ever have a son when a daughter could rule in her own right?”_

_“A woman could never run a joint kingdom, Beelzebub.”_

_“You keep telling me that as if I won’t be the one to do it when you kick the bucket.”_

_“That won’t happen.”_

_“Just shut up and go to sleep,” she murmured, and found Gabriel’s arm wrapped loosely around her waist. They were silent for a long moment, the only sound in the room that of the roaring fireplace. _

_“What if it never happens?” Gabriel muttered, his voice quieter and more unsure than Beelzebub had ever heard it _be_ before. She didn’t know he was capable of being quiet. “It’s been almost four years, Bee.”_

_“Well it’s not like there’s anything more we can do about it,” she sighed, opening her eyes before propping herself up on her elbow and looking at him. “It will happen, you just need to be patient. There’s still plenty of time. I promise you Gabriel; one day, our child will follow in our footsteps and rule our kingdoms.” She briefly cupped his face and ran her thumb over his cheek in a rare moment of tenderness before lying back down on the bed and rolling over to face away from him, no longer wrapped in his arms._

_“Maybe I should start trying on a mistress,” Gabriel teased, settling down into the mattress._

_“I will cut off your penis before you can even think about it.”_

_ __ _

_ _While she may not have had a child of her own, once they settled in Arcadia and the Queen Mother took to locking herself away in her apartments, Beelzebub found herself spending quite a bit of time with Aziraphale. He was a sweet, bright child when Beelzebub first arrived at sixteen, but now he had grown into a round faced and nervous adolescent who was seldom seen when it was not required of him. To the outsider, it looked as if his father’s death had shaken him._ _

_ _It was only a few who knew that it was really what happened afterwards that did it._ _

_ _Gabriel had always taken out his frustration on his brother, annoyed by his noise and clutter as a child and prone to giving him tame punishments for it. Beelzebub had seen it when she first arrived and she hadn’t liked it, but felt she could do nothing about it until she took Gabriel with her to Inferna, granting the child a respite._ _

_ _When they returned, however, there was no mother or father to dissuade him from taking out the frustration of ruling on his eleven year old brother. He would yell at him for meaningless things. Meals would be deprived. Blows would be dealt. Pleasures revoked. The bright, happy child Beelzebub remembered morphed with time into an anxious, secretive boy and would with time become a meek, compliant man._ _

_ _

_ “We will, of course, make provisions for you when you’re old enough to establish your own household,” Beelzebub said cooly, blocking his advance. She was dressed in the appropriate attire for fencing (which was not appropriate attire for a woman in any situation, and Gabriel would have had a fit had he seen her) and was facing a thirteen year old Aziraphale as their foils clashed together. _

__

__

_“I know you will,” Aziraphale replied, stepping back and finding a new angle before striking again. Beelzebub shed his blow and returned it in kind, now advancing on him. “My duty as the second son is to marry for the good of the family and for the monarchy. Make an alliance.”_

_“And you’re alright with that?” She asked, stepping lightly as she moved toward him, then she dodged his returning blow and began stepping backwards once again. “You aren’t jealous of your brother? Or resent him?”_

_“What good would that do?” Aziraphale asked, eyes darting to watch her feet for a moment as he advanced. “Resentment? It isn’t as though I want to be the king, anyway.” Indeed, Aziraphale was not the ruling sort, content instead to sit curled up in the library and allow the world to pass around him while he read. He was certainly skilled in fencing and hunting, but he didn’t find the same thrill in them that Gabriel did. Still, he had quite a bit of potential that Beelzebub could see as she sparred with him._

_“All I want,” Aziraphale said, letting the rubber tip of his foil touch her collarbone, “is to have some sort of say in when and to whom I am married. Point.”_

_ “It’s a reasonable request,” Beelzebub said, stepping back from where the foil was poised. She turned the words over in her mind, wondering blindly how anyone could just not want to be king when the option was there. “I’ll keep it in mind.”_

_ “Thank you,” Aziraphale said, resetting his position. “Shall we go again?” _

_ _As time passed, Gabriel began to live more extravagantly. Arcadia-Inferna came into quite a bit of surplus money after a particularly vicious war, and despite Aziraphale’s suggestions for investment and charity, Gabriel and Beelzebub decided to finally repair the castle in Inferna to keep as a secondary base, then began to keep full staff in both households._ _

_ _Then the parties began._ _

_ _The food and wine followed._ _

_ _And the extravagant gifts of gratitude for their friends and favorites._ _

_ _The dresses and jewels that came in droves when Beelzebub missed one of her courses and thought she was expecting, then were taken away when it turned out to be a false alarm._ _

_ _It was a way of life that Gabriel saw as his birthright, and Beelzebub quickly grew accustomed to it by association. She found that she quite enjoyed becoming the center of attention, courtiers around her and trying desperately to be showered with her praises and affections, finding even more joy in their disappointment when she refused to grant it. Perhaps Gabriel felt the same joy when he dangled his approval in front of her only for him to tug it away again._ _

_ _It was twisted, and delightful._ _

_ _With financial stability, the pressures of being a monarch began to slip away and were replaced instead with the pleasures of it. It then made sense that she would be eager to grant Aziraphale the same opportunities when they arose with the proposed marriage to Prince Newton._ _

_ _And oh, how quickly her world had changed after that._ _

_ _How quickly her patience with Aziraphale had gone down when he tried to refuse the alliance, then gone out the window when he did. Beelzebub wasn’t stupid. She had smelled a rat the moment she was told that Prince Aziraphale had been kidnapped. Gabriel may have taken a few weeks to figure out that his brother had arranged it, but Beelzebub connected the dots between the disdain for the match and his sudden disappearance almost instantly. It filled her with rage and resentment. How could anyone just throw away their duty like that? Throw caution to the wind and neglect their entire purpose in life just on a whim? _ _

_ _It took months of checking in with spies and sending ships out to search, but they did, of course, find Aziraphale, and Gabriel went out with a naval platoon to find him. He had pressed a cool kiss to Beelzebub’s knuckles, and then he was gone._ _

_ _And Aziraphale came home instead, bringing with him a flock of dirty, unkempt children, his old tutor, and a pirate captain with copper curls and bright yellow eyes so like the ones that Beelzebub had seen so many years before. It made sense. They were, after all, the same eyes._ _

_ _Before she could even comprehend the news of her husband’s death, Beelzebub was dethroned and sent into exile. Aziraphale had, of course, made her comfortable provisions in Inferna, but it was exile, nonetheless. The thought filled her with rage. _ _

_ _Rage at being overthrown by a petulant child. One that had killed his own brother in cold blood. Murdered his brother, his king, her husband, just because he decided that his duty was beneath him._ _

_ _Rage at being delegitimized for someone who was supposed to have been disposed of as an infant. Someone who had grown up a street rat and had **none** of the education or skills required to be a monarch which Beelzebub had cultivated over decades. Someone who was only in this position due to sheer _luck_ and may very well have been an importer._ _

_ _Rage at watching BOTH of them throw duty and caution to the wind once again, throwing Beelzebub’s life and position onto some _commoner,_ a girl without an ounce of poise or formal education, nor a single drop of royal blood in her veins. That was the biggest insult of all. That after all of the learning, manipulation, and strife that she had to endure to hold her position, she was simply overthrown and had her position (and her husband’s position) which had been theirs by their birthright given to the first person to walk in from the street._ _

_ _It’s almost funny, in hindsight. That she spent two decades on the Infernian throne and nearly as long on the Arcadian one, trying desperately to give both kingdoms and heir. Of course it’s only after her husband is murdered, she’s overthrown, and she’s sent into exile that she realizes that on the night before Gabriel left to retrieve Aziraphale their prayers were finally answered._ _

_ _Knowing that her _replacement_ won’t notice if she were to slip off the radar, Beelzebub moved further inland and found a house in a quiet town where she knew she wouldn’t be recognized. Once clothed in silk gowns and heavy jewels, she purchased simple clothes from the local seamstress, and settled into her new life. It is only logical that having been overthrown from her position by a commoner, Beelzebub carried with her the name of someone still loyal to her who remained behind in the cabinet, pledging false allegiance to the new monarch._ _

_ _One night, a few weeks into her exile, she bought a rather decorative knife and sat in front of her looking glass. With slow, methodical movements, she twisted her long black hair into a single braid running down her back. Then in one swift movement, she ran the knife through it, leaving it in choppy waves that fell at her chin. The braid fell to the floor, and she simply looked at it disdainfully before standing, hand coming to rest on her middle, and going to find something else to turn her attention to._ _

_ _All things considered it is easy after that. Her neighbors have been told she is a widow, nothing more detailed than that. They don’t ask questions, just give her pitying looks as she passes through the town. _ _

_ _It is a quick, easy birth. It had been easy enough to find a midwife among the women of the town, and when the baby boy is placed on her chest Beelzebub felt a warm tugging at her heart that she couldn’t recall ever feeling before. He had the same dusting of golden hair and violet eyes as his father, and some strange, primal part of her wished that he could be there, perhaps finally telling her that he’s proud of her. The baby was then cleaned, swaddled, and given a name._ _

_ _Raphael. For her uncle._ _

_ _A promise made between the sheets of her marriage bed came to mind when she held him properly for the first time. A vow that Gabriel’s child would rule. A letter was sent under the cover of night, telling her confidante of the arrival of the true King’s son, and that her loyalty to Beelzebub and the newborn prince will be rewarded greatly when he is given his divinely-granted position. Michael replied quickly, reassuring Beelzebub of her allegiance and promising her that she would complete whatever internal work was required._ _

_ _Now all Beelzebub had to do was keep Raphael out of sight and bide her time._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all comments are valued and appreciated, from constructive criticism, to incoherent rambling, to the humble '<3' I reply to every single one.
> 
> Come bother me on tumblr over @ senseofenterprise


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stop in a familiar town leads to an encounter with a familiar face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi guys. I'm not dead! I'm so sorry about the wait for this chapter. A LOT has happened in the last week: had a mental breakdown, dropped a class for the first time, changed my major from pre-med to history (yeah I'm in a crisis), and celebrated my first round of High Holy Days. Needless to say my life's been crazy. 
> 
> That being said, this is the longest chapter of the series to date clocking in at 5500 words. I'm very pleased with it. I hope you all enjoy it!

It was a nice day. The sun shone through the few white, wispy clouds that hung overhead, and the water had been still as glass as the ship sailed to its destination in Inferna. Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the coast. His former dominion would always have a soft spot in his heart, and this town in particular held fond memories. He grabbed Crowley by the arm as he walked past him and pulled him close. “It’s almost fitting dear, how the first place I ever went ashore with you will be one of our last stops on the ship. Do you remember that day?”

“Do I remember the day you almost got yourself killed and then poured out your heart to me while we got drunk and almost kissed?” Crowley laughed, unable to stop the grin spreading across his features. “Yes, Aziraphale. I remember that day, dove.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Aziraphale’s head, earning a delighted hum from him. “Do you want to try to find that fountain again?”

“Yes please,” Aziraphale smiled, tilting his head up to look at him. “We’ll go for a walk once the children have returned.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Crowley said, and took Aziraphale’s hand in his own to give it a gentle squeeze before letting it go. The _Bentley_ pulled in slowly closer to the coast, and the crew jumped into action working to tether it in place.

“Right,” Crowley said once Brian and Pepper finished tying the ship to the dock. “Go off, have fun, don’t do anything stupid, be back in four hours and we’ll swap.” 

“Actually,” said Adam, walking up behind him, “I was thinking you and Aziraphale should go out with everyone else. I’ll stay with the ship for the first watch. It’ll be practice.”

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale asked, his brow furrowing. “We wouldn’t mind waiting so you can stay with your friends.”

“I don’t mind,” he shrugged. “Besides, Dog’ll keep me company.”

“Nobody stays by themselves, you know that,” Crowley chided, grabbing his coat. “Someone has to stay here with you.”

Warlock opened his mouth to speak, but Pepper beat him to it. “We’ll stay here with Adam and go together like usual. But you two should take the first shift. Enjoy your break.”

“Quick, darling, before they change their minds,” Aziraphale laughed, pulling Crowley in to fasten the buttons on his coat. “Maybe this time we’ll stay out later than we should, and they’ll learn how waiting around feels.”

Any hesitation Crowley felt melted away, and he laughed at his husband’s doting. “Alright, alright. But don’t hesitate to come find us if you need us.”

“Aye, Captain,” Adam nodded, going to pull up a chair. “Go off, have fun, don’t do anything stupid,” he parroted back at him.

Crowley gave him a mock salute and put his dark glasses on before slipping his hand into Aziraphale’s and following him off the ship. “My ship better be in one piece when I get back.”

“No promises,” Warlock called out, his friends snickering at the worried look that flickered across Crowley’s features.

\--

“It’s exactly the same five years later,” Aziraphale said, running his fingers over the texture of the stones lining the fountain. He closed his eyes and took in a breath, the smell of the surrounding woods bringing the memory to the forefront of his mind.

“Just with more moss,” Crowley smiled, Aziraphale’s delight proving contagious. He watched his angel just think for a moment before grabbing him by the shoulders.

Aziraphale laughed brightly. “What are you doing?” He asked as Crowley began to move his body into position, taking in the background and making it match the picture in his mind.

“You were standing right...” he led, closing one eye and giving Aziraphale a final nudge before letting go of his shoulders. “Here. When I fell in love with you. Actually, you were sitting.” A gentle shove had Aziraphale spilling on to the ground and slumping against the wall of the fountain, an indignant huff at being shoved quickly being chased by an amused laugh.

Relaxing against the fountain, he grabbed Crowley by his pantlegs, pushing him into position and pulling another grin to the pirate’s lips. “And you were standing right... here when you called me by my name for the first time. Actually if I remember correctly, you were pacing worriedly when you said it and I had to pull on you to make you stop.”

“What can I say? You were particularly annoying that day.”

“Oh hush,” Aziraphale snorted, then tugged hard on Crowley’s leg, making him tumble to the ground next to Aziraphale, yelping as he went. “And then you sat down like this and called me a pain in the ass.”

“Which you were. And still are,” he brushed the dirt from his pants and shifted to sit next to him properly. “I told you then I just keep you around for your fighting skills and that absolutely has not changed since then.”

“Oh? You have no other reason at all for keeping me around?”

“Not a one.”

“And those declarations of undying love last night when I was kneeling between your legs? Were those about my sword skills?” He smirked.

Crowley turned delightfully pink in the ears. “Different type of sword skills.”

“You’re a master of innuendo my dear.”

Crowley went to give him a halfhearted shove, but Aziraphale caught his hand by the wrist and pressed a kiss to the scar on his palm. They settled into a companionable silence after that, Crowley tucking his head into the crook of Aziraphale’s shoulder while Aziraphale ran his thumb over Crowley’s knuckles in his hold. A breeze was beginning to pick up, bringing in clouds that were large and fluffy, but still white, providing a respite from the sun. For a moment, Crowley let his eyes fluttered closed and block out the worries of the world.

“Isn’t this such a beautiful place?” Aziraphale asked, pressing a soft kiss to Crowley’s knuckles.

“Mhm,” Crowley hummed, tension relaxing from his shoulders.

“Only a land this beautiful could create a person as beautiful as you.”

The tension returned. “Angel...”

“I’m not bringing anything up, I just think you would enjoy at least reconnecting with your homeland.”

“Aziraphale you can invoke my heritage all you want, but I’ll never be the type to sit on a throne.”

“I’m not asking you too. Anathema’s quite secure on it. I just think this would be a lovely place for us to settle down.”

“So you could return to the diplomatic and drag me into it.”

“I never said that, dear.”

“But it’s the truth,” he said, sitting up and opening his eyes to look at him. “What happened to taking a few months to relax before planning the long term? You promised me that.”

“I’m not making any plans right now,” Aziraphale huffed, but didn’t stop his gentle strokes to Crowley’s hand. “I’m just bringing up the possibility.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley murmured, voice cracking. “Please drop it. Okay? Give me some time and we can do all the planning you want. But right now, I just want to spend the day out with you, being near you, and enjoying a little peace and quiet. Okay?” Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak but Crowley pulled off his glasses and looked into his eyes, allowing Aziraphale to see the worry behind them. “You promised, Angel.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but let his cause evaporate into thin air after that. He sighed, but he brought Crowley’s knuckles to his lips again to press a kiss to them. “You’re right, I did promise. I’m sorry for bringing it up, Anthony. Of course I’ll drop it.”

The silence settled back between them, less comfortable this time with the memory of their disagreement hanging thickly between them. 

“Besides,” Crowley said first, voice uncertain, “Don’t you just want a few months of quiet? Time to read and cook and being together without worrying about a teenager catching us in the act?”

Aziraphale chuckled at that, and the tension began to recede. “That does sound rather lovely. We may just spend the first few weeks in bed.”

“Is that a promise?”

“It is,” Aziraphale nodded, then brought his lips to Crowley’s before putting the glasses back on his husband’s face. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind swept through the woods, pushing Aziraphale into Crowley’s hold, his long arms wrapping around him to keep him warm.

“Come on Angel,” he murmured when the wind died down. “Let’s go find a place to warm up.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Aziraphale agreed, climbing to his feet. He offered Crowley his hand and helped him to his feet, then interlaced their fingers as they began to walk back towards the center of the town.

\--

“Why’d you volunteer to stay behind?” Warlock asked once Brian and Wensley had given up on waiting around and decided to venture out into the town exploring. He was sitting cross-legged on the deck back to back with Adam, his fingers scratching Dog’s ears as he lay with his head in Warlock’s lap. 

“I thought they deserved a break,” Pepper shrugged, sitting against the railing with her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. “Aziraphale and the Captain haven’t gone ashore first ever, I thought they should do it without any of us underfoot.”

“That was nice of you,” Adam said, suspicious.

“Why not go out with Brian and Wensley then?” Warlock added.

“That was because I wanted a chance to interrogate you.”

“There it is,” he grinned, leaning his head back onto Adam’s shoulder.

An amused smile curled at Pepper’s lips. “When did you two become a couple?” 

“A couple days ago,” Adam responded, his hand reaching behind his back to rest on Warlock’s. “The night we all sat up together after dinner. We started talking after everyone went to bed. How did you figure it out?”

“Your flirting shifted from oblivious pining to something even grosser,” she shrugged, rising from her spot to move closer and start petting Dog as he drifted off in Warlock’s lap. “Adam did you ask the Captain to let us all stay just so Warlock would? Because if you don’t want all of us to stay then you should be up front about it.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Adam told her, turning his head to look at her. “I want all of you. I need all of you if I’m gonna have a chance at handling this. You’ve all got value as crew members and you’re all my friends. You’re my family. I need you to stay as I can have you before you go off and find something better.”

Her lips quirked up into a smile for a moment before she teasingly punched him in the arm. “Don’t call me stupid, stupid. And same rules go for Warlock as Aziraphale, he’s not the boss of me just because he’s shacking up with the captain.”

“Watch it or I’ll spit in your food,” Warlock laughed, distracting Pepper just long enough for Adam to tackle her, and the three of them fell into a pile of laughter and good-natured shoving. Dog, nap disturbed, yelped and climbed on top of them all.

When she saw two familiar figures approaching the ship, Pepper pushed both of them off of her. “Brian and Wensley are back. You two go out and take in the sights.”

“You sure?” Adam asked, sitting up so she could do the same without his long limbs pinning her down. “You don’t want to go ashore?”

“I’ll go when the Captain gets back,” she shrugged. “Go on. Find a place to be gross that isn’t in my line of sight.”

Warlock got to his feet and pulled Adam to his. “Sounds like permission to me. Let’s run with it.” It was quick work to grab a rope to use as a lead for Dog before the two of them ran off the ship, hand in hand and ready to begin an adventure of their own as the clouds began to gather overhead.

\--

The tavern was noisy, dirty, and crowded, but it was also a warm respite from the wind and dark clouds that had overtaken the beautiful sky that had shone when they first docked. Crowley pulled Aziraphale inside, his jacket now wrapped around his angel’s shoulders. Once inside, Aziraphale gave it back to him along with a squeeze of his hand. “Go find us a place to sit,” he told him over the noise of the other patrons. “I’ll get us something to drink.”

“You sure Angel?” Crowley asked, face showing his concern even though his glasses hid his eyes. “This is a bit of a rough place for you.”

“You say that as if I haven’t spent the last five years on a rat-infested pirate ship,” Aziraphale said pointedly, then nudged him. “I’ll be fine, darling. I can manage speaking to the barmaid. Go sit.”

Crowley opened his mouth to argue once more, but a sharp look from Aziraphale silenced him before he could even breathe. He turned diligently on his heels and went to find them a quiet table in the back corner of the room.

Across the tavern, a woman sat with a drink in her hand and her eyes fixed on the red-haired man that had just sat down by himself. Their acquaintance had been brief, and it had been almost four years since she had seen him last, but she recognized him immediately. Her teeth clenched as silent rage filled every bone in her body. Her gaze snapped away from him for a moment and scanned the rest of the crowded, poorly-lit room for sign of the companion she knew the red-haired man would have entered with.

She caught sight of him at the bar and her blood ran cold. There he was: her brother in law, her husband’s murderer, her usurper. The man who robbed her of her husband, her position, her home, and her son of his father. Beelzebub’s shoulders heaved with each slow, deep, angry breath and her nostrils flared as she pushed down the urge to lunge across the room and rip Aziraphale to shreds. No, she thought, not here. Not in public. If she was going to succeed, she would need to play along and avoid drawing their suspicion towards her. 

She watched as Crowley looked around before pulling off his sunglasses and rubbing his eyes clear of dust and weariness. He looked up when he moved to replace his glasses, and Beelzebub caught sight of the golden, slit-pupiled eyes that had ingrained themselves in her memory from childhood. Then she realized that he had caught sight of her. Worse yet, a look of recognition crossed his features. 

_Damn._

Beelzebub threw back the rest of her drink to settle her nerves, then got to her feet and crossed the room. Crowley put his glasses back over his eyes and his foot began tapping anxiously under the table as she approached.

“Captain Crowley,” she said, pulling all the rage from her features and replacing them with a plastic, courtier smile. Old habits die hard. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Beelzebub,” Crowley murmured, his brain short-circuiting. “What a surprise.”

“I don’t see why it would be. Did you forget that your husband exiled me here?” She asked, and Crowley flinched. “Don’t worry, it’s water under the bridge. He had the authority. May I sit?”

Crowley glanced out of the corner of his eye for Aziraphale, catching sight of him still at the bar waiting to catch the barmaid’s attention. “Sure,” he nodded at Beelzebub, and she pulled the chair back to sit down.

“I admit,” she said, resting her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her hands. “I was surprised to hear that you two decided to abdicate after going through all the trouble of confirming your heritage just to set me aside.” Her voice remained cool, her expression never faltering or revealing the bite behind her words. 

Crowley straightened his back and rested his hands on the table, determined to not let his anxiety be revealed. She saw right through it, of course, but his effort was admirable. “I didn’t plan on any of that, alright? If I could have stayed out of it entirely I would have. That was all Aziraphale’s doing.”

“Oh I know that,” she bristled, giving him a sly smile. “I don’t blame you, Anthony. No, you had every right to do what you did. Surprise or not, it always pleases me when a rightful heir is restored to their position. You were born into it, why not fight for your rightful place? I was more miffed to hear that you gave it up than to know it went to you.”

“Yeah well,” Crowley murmured, bending one elbow to rest his face on his hand. “I’m not really royal, am I? I might have the blood but it’s not like I have the upbringing or education. I would have been a piss-poor King. And no offense, but your entire way of life disgusts me and I would have just dissolved the monarchy if it had been my decision to make.”

“Oh, with a little training I think you would have been fine,” Beelzebub shrugged, glossing over his last remark to keep the words from letting her anger bubble up again. “Most of it is instinctive, and if you’d been around you probably would have gotten a much better education and preparation than I did. But your father was too busy drinking away the royal treasury to pay any attention to my receiving proper training by the time it fell to me.”

Crowley swallowed hard. “From what I hear,” he said, tapping his fingers against the table, “he was a fuckup of a king and an even worse husband and father.”

“He certainly left me with a bit of work to do,” Beelzebub replied, taking in his features. Analyzing him. “And I admit his handling of your... deformity... lacked grace. You resemble him, though. Not as much as you resemble your mother, though.”

Crowley bristled at the word “deformity,” but set his features, determined not to show his anger. “’Lacking grace’ is a funny way of saying he wanted to _murder a newborn._”

“Fair enough,” Beelzebub shrugged, fingers drumming gently on her cheek. “Just so you know, I would have been more graceful about being displaced if your being alive hadn’t been such a surprise. Don’t blame me for taking over your position, I was pretty much sure that you were dead.”

“I don’t blame you. I’ve told you, I never wanted to be a king.” Crowley crossed his arms across his wait and leaned back in his chair. “How are we related again?”

“My mother was your father’s sister,” she said. “After you... went away... she would have been heir, but she died when I was a teenager. So it fell to me.”

“Aziraphale said you were sixteen when you became Queen.”

“Yes.”

“What happened to the king?”

“Drank himself to death.”

“And my mother?”

“Died three weeks after you were born,” she said bluntly. She watched as Crowley’s face fell for just a moment before shoving the emotion away. “Heartbreak, my mother said. Others said it was divine punishment for consorting with demons to make you.”

Crowley tensed at that, snarling. “Consorting with demons?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” she said, holding her hands up defensively, “I’m just telling you what I remember because I think you have the right to know your family history. Everyone does.”

Crowley seemed to calm a bit, but he stayed tense. “...I have one question.”

“Go ahead.”

“What was my mother’s name?”

“Lilith,” she replied, and watched him take in the information. It was the perfect hit, she thought. He trusted her now, he was vulnerable. “She had the same red hair as you. She was smart, kind, and had a heart too big for her own good.” She rested her arms on the table, crossing one over the other. 

Crowley nodded. “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” she said, reaching over and laying a hand on his arm. “You have a right to know your history, Anthony.” Crowley flinched at the use of his name. “Just like you deserve to be angry at your father. You deserve to make this your home.” Slowly, Crowley began to take in her words, letting them run through his mind and sink in. Her voice was sweet as molasses and her words began to tear down his walls. “And most importantly, you deserve your spot on that throne.” Crowley opened his mouth to respond to that line of thought.

“Beelzebub,” Aziraphale said, voice sharp and breaking both her and Crowley out of their conversation. “Fancy seeing you here. You’ve cut your hair.”

“Adjusting to exile,” she shot back, giving him a plastic smile and eyes like daggers. “How’s life on a dingy with fleas and rats?”

“It’s lovely. I see you’ve met my husband.” He set the two drinks down on the table and stared her down.

“Indeed, I was just catching up with my dear cousin.” She squeezed Crowley’s arm then got to her feet. “How long have you been in town? I haven’t been able to welcome you properly.”

“We’re only here for the day. A quick stop returning from the royal wedding in Arcadia.”

Beelzebub trembled with rage at the reminder of _that_ injustice, but her grin did not fade. “Oh yes, that was last week. I didn’t make it over, on account of not being invited.”

“Obviously,” Aziraphale said, his body stiff with cold anger. 

“What a shame,” she sighed. “I would have loved to congratulate the happy couple. I did like Prince Newton, I still believe he would have made an excellent match for you, my darling brother.” She pressed a pseudo-affectionate pat to his cheek, and Aziraphale caught her hand by the wrist.

“Goodbye, Beelzebub.” He said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Ah yes,” she said, pulling her hand back sharply. “I should probably take that as my cue to leave. We all know what you do to people that cross you.” The smile that she’d had plastered on since approaching Crowley dropped and was replaced with cool indifference. “Goodbye, Aziraphale. Anthony, dear.” She stepped away, holding eye contact with Aziraphale as she walked until she turned to pay her debt to the bar maid. Then she gathered her cloak from the door and slipped outside.

A hand grabbed Aziraphale’s arm, and he looked down to see Crowley’s fingers wrapped tightly around his sleeve. “Darling are you alright?” He asked, concern replacing his calm rage as he cupped Crowley’s face and looked where their eyes would meet had it not been for the sunglasses. Crowley began to tremble slightly, the reality of the situation settling in. “What did she say to you?”

A lump rising in his throat, Crowley forced himself to take a deep breath and gestured for Aziraphale to sit down. “I’m not sure, Angel. It was kind of a whirlwind. Lots of telling me I shouldn’t have abdicated. That I had a right to the throne, and she wasn’t mad at me.”

A frown crossed Aziraphale’s features. “What?”

“She blames you, not me. Which I guess makes sense in some backwards way. But she kept harping on about how I should have fought for my ‘rightful place’ or whatever.” 

“Whatever she said, it had an effect on you,” Aziraphale said, reaching across the table and taking his hand. 

“I... I don’t think she’s right, if that’s what you’re thinking. I think she’s planning something to do with trying to get back on the throne.”

“But if she thinks you’re the rightful owner of her position–“

“I don’t know her reasoning, Aziraphale. I just think she’s planning something.” He reached out with his free hand and grabbed his tumbler, taking a sip from it in an attempt to stop his body’s trembling. “We need to keep an eye on her.”

“I’ll get a message to Anathema. Have her put someone on it.” He ran his thumb over Crowley’s knuckles. “Is that all? You seem quite shaken up, my darling.”

Crowley set his tumbler down and took a deep breath to steady himself. “My mother’s name was Lilith.”

“Oh my darling,” Aziraphale sighed and brought Crowley’s hand to his lips to press a gentle kiss to his knuckles. “Perhaps we should head back to the ship. Give Adam a break.”

“Yeah,” Crowley nodded, then finished off his drink. “D’you think the wind’s died down yet?”

“I don’t think so, but if we make a run for it, it won’t be so bad.” Aziraphale picked up his tumbler and drank down his whiskey in one go, which would have thoroughly impressed Crowley if he weren’t shaken to his very core. He rose to his feet and wrapped his arm around Crowley’s before leading him out of the tavern and into the streets, walking back towards the ship.

\--

“Thank you for watching him,” Beelzebub said, taking a sleeping Raphael from her neighbor’s arms and resting him on her hip.

“Of course,” the woman smiled, resting her hand warmly on the boy’s cheek as he shifted in his mother’s hold. “Are you heading home now?”

“For a moment. There’s a bit of a family crisis that needs dealing with, so I’ll run home and get a few things before going.”

“Oh no,” the woman frowned. “Are you sure you want to take him with you? I wouldn’t mind watching him overnight. He gets along so well with mine.”

“I appreciate the offer but no, thank you,” Beelzebub smiled, seemingly warm. “I’d rather keep him with me. Less likely to worry about him if I have my eyes on him.” She thanked the woman again and bid her goodbye before slipping to her cottage and setting Raphael down on his bed before gathering enough things to make the journey.

Cloak on and bag slung over her shoulder, she scooped the boy up again and set him on her hip then walked out of the door. The boy stirred in her arms and clung on tightly as he felt the wind hit his face. “Mama?” He murmured, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Shh,” She cooed, wrapping her cloak around him to buffer the wind. “We’ve got to make a little trip, alright? Just hold on to me. You can go back to sleep if you’d like.”

The boy curled up close to her once again but did not let sleep take him again, instead watching the town pass around him as they walked towards the sea.

\--

The wind roared around them as dark grey clouds gathered overhead. “We’ll have to stay docked for the night,” Crowley said, arm wrapped protectively around Aziraphale’s waist as they walked. “You’d have to be suicidal to sail in whatever’s about to come.”

“I only hope that ship over there is giving refunds to all those people standing in line,” Aziraphale said, gesturing to a passenger vessel docked not far from the _Bentley._ “Sailors going out is one thing but surely a commercial vessel cannot sail in these conditions.”

“Depends on how desperate someone is,” Crowley said, making note of the figure of a hooded woman trying to offer the ship captain a coin purse, a child balanced on her hip.

“And to take a child into it as well,” Aziraphale murmured, worry manifesting as chills running down his spine that had nothing to do with the blustering wind. “Poor thing must be dealing with quite the crisis to stoop to that.”

As they got closer, the figures became clearer and suddenly, Aziraphale was stopping dead in his tracks.

The resemblance was obvious, and to his own brother it was clear as a crystal.

The boy tucked up in the woman’s arms was young, and even with the remaining roundness of infancy his face was the mirror image of Gabriel’s. He had the same light brown hair Aziraphale remembered his brother having in childhood, and his eyes were the same startling, cool violet that he saw drain of light as blood dripped from his sword onto the deck. Aziraphale reached out and grasped Crowley’s arm. 

Crowley stopped walking and turned back to him. “Angel, what’s wrong?”

Aziraphale couldn’t move, save to point at the pair of figures as a strong gust of wind pulled the hood from the woman’s head, revealing Beelzebub’s face. She boarded the ship, child still wrapped securely in her arms, and the ship’s crew worked quickly to untie the ropes from the dock and raise the sails.

Crowley turned and looked at Aziraphale, and a moment of pure panic passed between them as they realized what they had seen.

“Gabriel’s son,” Aziraphale rasped, eyes blowing wide.

“She’s going to try to overthrow Anathema and put the boy on the throne, she thinks he has a right to it,” Crowley finished. Another moment passed, then they running as quickly as they could towards the ship.

When they climbed aboard, Pepper was working with Brian and Wensley to seal up the ship to keep the rain out for the night. “Captain!” She called out when she saw Crowley and Aziraphale get on the ship.

“Put the sails back up. Where’s Adam?”

“He and Warlock are out still.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he glanced at Crowley before going to get the boys to raise the sails again. “Why did he leave?” Crowley frowned, his anxiety manifesting as anger. “He knows that one of the two of us needs to be with the ship at all times!”

“I told him to go,” Pepper said, standing strong, not allowing herself to take his anger personally. “What’s wrong, Captain?”

“Anathema’s in trouble,” he said, and Pepper’s eyes widened. “We need to go, now. Angel, go with Brian and go find Adam and Warlock.” Aziraphale nodded and he and Brian disembarked, his adrenaline allowing him to keep up with the boy with ease. “Pepper, Wensley,” Crowley continued, “we need to get ready to go as soon as they’re back. We need to get the sails up.”

“Yes, Captain,” they nodded, and jumped to work.

They had persisted through the wind, but when the rain began to fall, Warlock and Adam had agreed to give up and take their time walking back towards the ship, Dog scooped up in Adam’s arms and covered by his coat.

When they saw Brian and Aziraphale running towards them and calling out desperately, dread settled in Adam’s stomach while Warlock tried desperately to push down his anxiety. They watched as they approached, and all it took was Aziraphale saying “Anathema,” before they were breaking into a sprint towards the ship.

\--

“I don’t understand,” Wensley called above the roar of the wind, holding desperately to the railing. “Why would she try to go back now when everyone knows why she’s been exiled?”

“Because even though her claim to the throne was delegitimized,” Aziraphale responded, Warlock holding him tightly from fear, “Gabriel’s son could take precedence over my claim, making my abdication and Anathema’s ascension void.”

“I thought they didn’t have children,” Brian replied from his spot directing the sails. 

“She must have been pregnant when she went into exile and we just didn’t know it,” Crowley frowned, his glasses tucked away and his earlier anxiety and anger drowned out by pure determination. “No cabinet in their right mind would put a four year old over a coronated queen, but she might still have connections inside.”

“People who are angry at Anathema for destroying their way of life,” Adam finished.

“Exactly,” Aziraphale nodded, his hand running on Warlock’s arm. “Are you alright, darling?”

Warlock nodded, taking a few steadying breaths. “Yeah. I just don’t like thinking about... him.”

Aziraphale nodded and squeezed his arm. “It’s alright. You’re a much stronger fighter now, and we’ll have backup when we arrive. Everything will be fine.”

He nodded and took one more breath before letting go of Aziraphale and running off to help Pepper prepare the weapons.

The sea was invisible from fog, and between the rain, wind, and dark clouds, they were sailing blindly. The sun set and rose again, and yet the rain persisted. They could only hope that they were still following Beelzebub’s ship, or that they had somehow pulled ahead of her. It wasn’t until just after dawn that the storm broke, and as the skies cleared, they could make out the coastline ahead in the distance, and the other ship pulling up against it.

“She’s got a head start, but we can still catch up,” Aziraphale said, sliding his sword into its scabbard and preparing to disembark. “With any luck, the guards will catch her.”

“Maybe, but we can’t rely on it,” Crowley agreed. “Alright, everyone armed and ready?”

Adam looked everyone over and turned back to Crowley. “Ready, Captain.”

“Alright,” said Crowley. “Drop the anchor, now.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A coup, a rescue, and an addition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M NOT DEAD!!!!! Yeah I know, it's been like a month. I can explain. My explanation is I've been HELLA depressed and just now got the spoons to write the climax of the story. Sorry to leave you guys hanging for so long, but here it is! The final update will probably be shorter and easier to write so I'll get it up soon. I hope you all enjoy!

Light was just beginning to break on the horizon, visible only through the cracks between dark clouds. The sky was a brilliant pink illuminating Beelzebub’s face as she slipped in through the servants’ entrance of the castle. Her cloak was soaked through, the wet hood clinging to her face and dress, but inside, the child settled on her hip was dry and dozing. 

Michael was waiting for them just inside, and she fell into a low curtsy at the sight of her, head bowed in a sign of respect. “Your Majesty, it’s a relief to see you once again, back in your rightful place.” 

A small smile pulled at the corners of Beelzebub’s lips as Michael rose back to her feet. “And it’s a relief to know there’s still one person in the world that recognizes where my rightful place is. I’ll need the help of a friend if I’m to restore the natural order of things.”

“I’ve been pulling the strings in your absence,” Michael assured her, guiding her down the hall and through the back ways out of sight of the servants beginning to go about their day. “There are several lords who have been biding their time under the Pretender, and it will be an easy task to call them to arms, especially once they see the young Prince.” Her eyes, filled with quiet reverence, fell on Raphael, sleeping soundly in his mother’s arms. “He is a beautiful child, Your Majesty.”

“The picture of his father,” Beelzebub nodded. “What is our plan?”

“The Pretender is already up and about,” Michael informed her, voice lowering in case anyone was nearby. “We’ll find a safe place for the Prince, then I’ll lure the Prince Consort out of bed and down to dungeon where you’ll be waiting. Once we overpower him, I’ll do the same with her. Once that’s settled, we’ll go about gathering the loyal.”

“Dear Michael,” Beelzebub praised, addressing her long-time confidante and general of her husband’s army. “Your loyalty will be rewarded greatly, I assure you.”

“Believe me,” she said, leading her down the hallway once again, “seeing our King’s son in his rightful place will be reward enough. I’ve prepared a room for him.”

The room in question was one where five years prior, a pirate captain had stood in the window and pulled a prince and a tutor out of it. The room, still Aziraphale’s whenever the _Bentley_ stopped for diplomatic reasons, had the bed made up and a fire going so that Raphael, still damp, could warm up while he slept.

“Really?” Beelzebub asked, eyebrow raised. “Why his?”

“Nobody will expect anyone to be in here,” Michael explained, ushering them in and closing the door behind them. “Once he’s settled, I’ll go and wake the Prince Consort.”

Beelzebub nodded and set about tucking Raphael into the bed, covering him in warm blankets. Her fingers carded gently through his hair and his eyes fluttered open for just a moment, violet staring up into her grey. She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “You stay right here, and I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay,” he murmured, and closed his eyes again before curling into the warm blankets, his small body looking even tinier in the sea of a white bed far larger and more luxurious than anything he had seen in his life. What should have been his birthright was instead an oddity, and the realization only fueled Beelzebub’s desire to set the world right once again. 

She stood upright once again and turned to Michael. “There’s something I need you to fetch for me once you’ve got Newton out of the room. Pull up the floorboard next to the bottom left leg of the bed and there should be a red box hidden inside. Bring it to me.”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

Beelzebub nodded. “I’ll see you in the dungeon then,” she instructed, then slipped back into the hallway.

\--

They were exhausted, wet, and cold, but when the _Bentley_ docked, its crew sprang into action. “Go, go, go,” Crowley called out, outfitting each of the children with a sword as they scrambled to disembark the ship. Aziraphale glanced briefly at his childhood home and swallowed the lump in his throat as he followed Crowley onto land. “Right,” Crowley told the crew, “The five of you find Anathema. No one is to go anywhere alone; do I make myself clear? Stay together. Protect each other.”

Adam stepped towards Aziraphale. “Anywhere we should try first? Secret entrances, cells, hidden rooms, anything?”

“She has a head start on us, and she’ll work fast. Check the dungeon first, then around servants’ quarters. We’ll cover the residence.” He closed his eyes for a moment, centering himself and letting the anxiety drain from his features to be replaced with cool calm. His blue eyes shot open when he felt a brush against his hand, but he eased when he realized it was just Crowley’s hand slipping into his own.

“We’ll find her. She’ll be safe,” Crowley reassured him with a squeeze. “She’s tough.”

“So is Beelzebub.” He replied shortly. “Right,” attention turned back to the crew he gestured to the back entrance. “Go through there, follow the stairs on the right downward. Be as quiet as you can.” He took Adam by the shoulders and looked him in the eye, reaching up to move the hair hanging in his face behind his ear. “Keep them safe,” he instructed, and Adam nodded solemnly, letting the words hang in the air before turning to the rest of the crew.

“Right, let’s move,” he said, and then they were off, following their fearless leader. 

Aziraphale’s hand found its way back into Crowley’s. “No time to lose dear. Front door, up the stairs. Let’s go.”

\--

“Your Majesty,” Michael cried, sweeping into Anathema’s study with an air of urgency. 

The Queen, dressed simply and sitting at her desk, looked up at her over the lenses of her large, circular glasses. “Yes Michael, what can I do for you?” The sun was just barely hanging in the sky and yet she was already surrounded by a pile of completed work and her tea had gone cold.

“It’s the Prince Consort,” explained Michael, entering the room without permission. That got Anathema’s attention, and she was sitting bolt upright within a moment. “Lady Beelzebub has entered the castle and is holding him hostage. The guards have her surrounded for now, but I knew I had to come get you.”

Blood running cold, Anathema rose from her desk and jammed her shoes onto her feet before following Michael out of the study. “Where are they now?”

“The dungeon, Your Majesty,” Michael responded, expression outwardly grim as they walked despite the elation in her heart over how _easy_ it had been to lure her out. “She’s armed, I’m afraid, and may be hard to remove her from the Prince.”

Pace quickening, Anathema followed her down hallways and staircases, mind only on Newton’s safety. “But the guards are there, yes?” She asked over her shoulder as she flung the door open only to promptly find herself with her wrists held firmly behind her by Beelzebub who was holding a knife to her throat. 

“Did I say that?” Michael asked sweetly, closing the door behind herself. “Silly me, slip of the mind. 

The metal was cool on her skin, Anathema noted, taking in her current predicament slowly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Newton, bound at the wrists, gagged, and handcuffed to the wall. “Newt!” She screamed, and the hold on her wrists tightened.

“Shut it,” Beelzebub snarled, pulling her downwards. “Playtime’s over. It’s time they let a real royal back on the throne. The two of you have had your fun, but there’s no place for either of you in this castle.”

Michael retrieved the other set of handcuffs and secured them around Anathema’s wrists as she began to thrash. “Let me go right this instant,” She demanded. “You can’t get away with murdering a queen.”

“Who said anything about murder?” Beelzebub said with feigned innocence. “There’s no need to murder you when you have no claim to begin with. No, I was thinking exile. Long, lonely, poverty-stricken exile. Take away your home and position and see how _you_ like it.”

Anathema opened her mouth to protest again, but Michael slipped behind her with a scarf and she found herself, for the second time in her life, gagged and bound at the mercy of an Infernian royal. Full circle, and all that.

The cuffs were secured firmly to the wall opposite Newton, leaving them both separated and unable to reach out or help one another. “Now I know,” Beelzebub said, securing her knife in a case on her belt, “you aren’t the one who exiled me. That responsibility rests on my dearest baby brother. Don’t worry, he’ll get what’s coming to him.” She bent down to Anathema’s eye level, sinister grin fixed firmly in place. “An eye for an eye, like they say. If he’d usurped me, that would have been one thing. At least he had a right to it. But you, you’re an insult worse than death. I cannot _wait_ to see you put back where you belong once the natural order is reestablished.” She tapped Anathema’s nose, grinning sharply when she received a dark glare in turn. “My my, someone’s feisty. Michael, keep an eye on this one. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Michael nodded, dropping to a low curtsy and not letting her eyes leave Beelzebub until she had left the room, leaving her to watch their captives.

With the pretender securely captured, Beelzebub dared to re-enter the castle out in the open, taking the stairs that led up to the rooms she had once occupied with her husband. She was unrecognized by the staff who saw her ascend but paid no mind to the familiar sight of a stranger who could have been called in for any number of things. It was only dumb luck that her not taking the back way up prevented her from running into the band of teenagers storming down to the dungeon.

Less lucky, however, was the fact that she was almost instantly spotted by their guardians, armed and waiting for her at the top of the stairs.

One look into the ice of Aziraphale’s eyes, and she was running. 

\--

“It’s over, Beelzebub,” Aziraphale said, watching as she darted to open the door on the other side of the library, only for Crowley, waiting on the other side of it, to cross the threshold with saber in hand. “There’s nowhere to go, nobody to help. Surrender now.”

“Never,” she snarled, backing slowly into the corner. “Why would I surrender to you filthy mongrels? You’re traitors to your king and country.” Her gaze fixed on Aziraphale, watching as he closed in on her, hand fixed firmly on the handle of his rapier. “You’re a disgrace and a murderer. I don’t know why in the hell they ever let a cold blooded killer steal Gabriel’s position. You should have been killed on the spot or left to rot in prison, you had no right to get rid of me. I’m just restoring things to their natural order.”

She was a ghost of her former self, Aziraphale thought, taking in the sight of her. When he pictured her in his mind, he saw her dressed for extravagant parties. Long, flowing, colorful gowns. Hair pulled into elaborate updos. Her neck and gown decked in jewels. She could captivate an entire room, the most important people hanging on her every word and desperately seeking her approval. She was the only person with the guts to tell Gabriel when he was being stupid, the only person with the ability to put shame or joy or fear in his heart. She was a Queen, plain and simple. She may not have been born into it, but she had taken on the task with grace and poise, the power warping her over time from a leader to a despot. 

Now though, she stood a stranger. Her gray frock was still soaked from the rain, and her short, choppy hair clung to her face. Her manners were jittery, body filled with panic and adrenaline of her coup being stopped in its tracks. Her fingers twitched at her sides as she backed up, reaching backwards and grabbing the wall once it was close enough. Where once she wouldn’t have been caught dead without heels, she stood short in stature wearing boots that laced up to her ankles and were tattered from years of wear. The only jewelry she still wore was the gold ring on her left hand and a single pearl on a string hanging around her neck. The Queen was gone, and in her place was a trembling would-be assassin.

Crowley made sure both doors were locked before coming to stand on the other side of her, effectively trapping her in the corner with both he and Aziraphale as obstacles to escape. “This is your chance to come quietly. We won’t hurt you unless you make it necessary.”

“I would rather die than succumb to your will,” her voice was a low growl, and as Crowley approached her eyes blew open wide, darting about the room for any way to escape. “The murderer is bad enough, but you? You should be dead. It’s disgraceful that they even let you near the castle.”

“Watch it,” Aziraphale barked, moving to pull his sword from its scabbard. He had it halfway pulled out before he felt Crowley’s hand on his arm, stilling his movements in a silent request to let her finish the thought.

Breath growing frantic, Beelzebub fixed her eyes on Crowley. “Your father made a mistake leaving you alone with your mother. She never should have let you live. She was an evil woman who was willing to bear the spawn of devils and now you’ve tempted my brother in law into a life of sin and murder. He never would have renounced his duty without your demonic influence.”

“Oh right, it was the influence of someone I’d never met, not the years of torment and abuse I faced at the hands of you and your husband,” Aziraphale shot back, voice cool. “I think you’ve said your piece; it’s time to give up.”

“You would have been perfect,” she said, pressing her back to the wall. “But you fell to temptation and gave up your duty to some disgraceful, dirty commoner. You betrayed your king and your bloodline. Treason, murder, is there anything you won’t stoop to? You forgot what was important and gave up everything you are to let some whore take your sacred duty. You’re disgusting,” she snarled, articulating the last insult by spitting on the floor by Aziraphale’s feet.

_”Hey!”_ Crowley barked, suddenly letting go of Aziraphale’s arm and drawing his own sword. “Don’t you start on that shit. Anathema is twice the queen you ever could be. Unlike you, she has a heart and a sense of right and wrong.” 

“Is ruining the livelihoods of the kingdom’s leaders what is right?”

“It is if their inability to be decked in gold means everyone else gets to be warm and fed.” Aziraphale said plainly, his body going taught with a bravery Beelzebub had never seen in him. Gone was the bright, happy child. Gone was the anxious, secretive boy. Gone was the meek, compliant man. In their place was a determined, level-headed pirate willing to sacrifice anything to keep the people he cared about safe.

Strange. He would have been a good ruler.

What a shame then that he’d succumbed to a life of crime and sin.

Adrenaline rushed through Beelzebub’s veins and with a roaring cry, she drew a dagger from her boot and lunged at Aziraphale.

Metal clattered on the floor as Crowley dropped his sword and grabbed her by the wrists, pulling them behind her back. His boot collided with the back of her knees and she fell to the floor, held in place under Crowley’s firm grip. She gasped in surprise and began tugging her arms, trying to free herself from his grip, which only tightened.

Bending to her level, he snarled in her ear, “you’re going to regret trying that. Now we gave you a chance to come quietly, but now you’ve thoroughly pissed me off. Nobody, and I mean _nobody_ tries to hurt my angel and gets away with it.”

“I think she’s got it, Anthony,” Aziraphale said coolly, taking the dagger from her hands. 

“Traitors!” She cried, still struggling under Crowley’s hold. “Treason! Murder! You’re never going to get away with this. My people will get sick of that common whore and Gabriel’s son will have his rightful place on the throne!”

“Give it up, will you?” Crowley growled, pushing her down so she fell face down onto the floor. He pressed his boot into her back to hold her in place. “Enough with the treason bit. You’re the one plotting to kill the Queen.” He looked up from her to Aziraphale. “I’ve got her. You go find someone who can lock her up.”

Aziraphale nodded and pocketed the dagger. “I’ll be right back,” he assured him before slipping out of the library.

Neither of them noticed as her head shifted ever so slightly, and what Aziraphale had mistaken for a pearl around her neck was pulled into her mouth and began to dissolve under her tongue. 

It was only moments later when he was walking back with a guard in tow that he heard “Aziraphale, something’s wrong!” that he broke into a sprint and rounded the corner, catching sight of Beelzebub writhing on the floor, foaming at the mouth and blue in the face.

\--

In hindsight, Michael should have done a better job of recruiting help before starting a coup. This thought came to her as she found herself surrounded on all sides by children with swords.

“Did you really think you could kidnap a queen and get away with it?” Pepper asked, lowering her sword so she could restrain their new captive, tying her wrists with a length of rope she found lying nearby. Once the knot was tied, Adam lowered his sword and took hold of Michael’s wrists.

“She’s the pretender,” Michael hissed. “The common whore, the traitor.”

“Shut up why don’t you,” Adam chided, pushing her down onto the floor. With the would-be captor now the captive, he looked up at his crew who lowered their swords. “Go help Newt and Anathema,” he instructed, and only Warlock stayed by his side holding a weapon over Michael while Pepper and the boys went to free the others. 

Cuffs were unlocked and gags untied, and Anathema rubbed the marks on her wrists before pulling Brian and Wensley in for hugs. “Oh thank you thank you thank you guys. What made you think to come for us?” She asked, letting them go to cross the room and check on Newton. “Are you alright hon?” He nodded. 

“We were in Inferna when we caught sight of Beelzebub getting on a ship bound here. Captain Crowley figured something was up,” Brian explained, helping Adam pull Michael up. 

“What do we do with this one?” Warlock asked, gesturing towards their finally quiet prisoner. 

Anathema looked her over slowly. “We’ll leave her in here for now. I’ll find a guard to come down and keep an eye on her. Do you mind keeping an eye on her until I come back Adam?”

“Course not. Go with her guys. Pepper, you stay with me.” They worked together to put Michael in cuffs against the wall, and Warlock lingered behind as Brian and Wensley took Newton and Anathema upstairs. “You can go up Warlock, we’ve got her.”

“I’m not leaving you behind,” he responded, putting his hand on Adam’s shoulder. His heart was pounding in his ears, unable to relax after what they’d just endured.

“I’m fine,” Adam reassured him, taking Warlock’s hand in his own to press a kiss to his knuckles. “Go find Aziraphale and the Captain, tell them what’s going on.”

“You’re sure?” Warlock asked, eyes soft at the corners.

“He’s fine,” Pepper replied for him. “Go get Crowley.” 

One more nod and Warlock was following the others out the door, not thinking as he took the same stairs Beelzebub had, putting him in the residence rather than the servant hallways. He made his way down the hall, looking completely out of place among bedrooms occupied on the daily by nobles. His focus was on finding Aziraphale of course, but the sound of a cry pulled him out of his thoughts.

He followed the source of the noise and found an open bedroom at the end of the hallway, fire crackling in the fireplace of what he identified as Aziraphale’s old room from the few times they had stayed there as a crew. The door creaked as he pushed it open, and he poked his head in, catching sight of a child curled up among the sheet and crying quietly.

Heart still pounding, he slipped slowly into the room. “Are you lost buddy?”

The child sat up when he heard Warlock’s voice, and his little lip was quivering. “I don’t know where my mama is,” he admitted, face tear-tracked.

There was no point in asking who that could have been. Warlock knew whose child this was. The second he’d sat up Warlock had seen the same violet eyes he saw in his nightmares; the memory of being held down and seconds from death a recurring visitor in the night. Bile rose in his throat for a moment, but he pushed it down and continued forward, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“She had to go away,” Warlock told him, trying to find the most reassuring way to get through this. No point in scarring the child, he couldn’t punish him for the sins of his parents. “I’m going to take you to someone safe. My name’s Warlock, what’s yours?”

The boy looked at him slowly, trying to figure out if this person really could be trusted. “Raphael,” he told him, still not approaching him.

“It’s nice to meet you Raphael. Would you feel safer waiting here for me to come back, or would you like to go with me to find help?”

Raphael thought for a moment then climbed off the bed. “I’ll go with you.”

Warlock offered his hand, and a tiny one grasped it firmly before they started the trek down the long hallway. 

\--

“Aziraphale!” Anathema cried out, running down the hallway and flinging her arms around him. He hugged her tightly in turn, still shaken to his very core. 

“You’re okay,” he breathed, squeezing her as if to make sure what he saw was real. “Who did she have helping her?”

“Michael, the general. Adam and Pepper have her secure and I sent a guard down.” She pulled back and cupped his face in her hands. “Did you get Beelzebub?”

“Sort of,” Crowley said, swallowing hard. Anathema gave him a warm hug as well which was surprisingly, accepted by the pirate captain.

“She rather got herself,” Aziraphale explained, grasping for the words as he took Newt’s hands in his own and squeezed them in greeting. “Crowley had her restrained, but she had poison on her person. I went to get reinforcements, but when I returned she had used it on herself.”

The color drained from Anathema’s face as she let go of Crowley. “Shit...”

“Shit is right,” Crowley agreed. “Your captain of the guard took her... wherever would be the appropriate place for a corpse in a castle, I guess.”

“There’ll be a spot in the basement,” Newt offered. “Are you guys okay? That sounds like a shock.”

“Are we okay? You’re the ones kidnapped in your own home,” Crowley snorted, trying to do anything to lighten the mood. “My kids found you okay then?”

“They were perfect saviors, as always,” Anathema chimed. 

“You flatter us,” Adam said, rounding the corner with Pepper in tow. 

Worry flashed across Crowley’s features as he counted one, two, three, four. “Where’s Warlock?”

“He’s not with you?” Adam asked, taking in the room. “I sent him up to find you guys.”

A panicked look flashed between Crowley and Aziraphale. “What are the chances they had another person helping that has him?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale thought for a moment. “What’s my one rule?” Crowley barked, turning to Adam and Pepper again. “Nobody goes anywhere by themselves. He could be anywhere in the castle: we don’t know who could have–“

“I’m fine!” A voice came from the top of the stairs, and eight sets of eyes looked up and caught sight of him descending with the child resting on his hip and holding on to him. “I got distracted, but I’m alright.”

Anathema’s eyes narrowed. “Whose kid is that?”

“Beelzebub’s,” Aziraphale answered. “And Gabriel’s. She was pregnant when she went into exile.”

“How in the hell did we overlook that?” She asked, voice dropping to a whisper.

“I’ve been asking myself the same question, dear.” He stood up straight and let Warlock approach him, taking in the sight of his nephew clearly for the first time. “Hello little one, what’s your name?”

“This is Raphael,” Warlock explained, arms still wrapped protectively around his new buddy. Aziraphale bit his lip at the sound of the name. “He was tucked away upstairs in your old room. His mama had to go away,” he explains, giving Aziraphale and the crew the story he had given the boy, “so I’ve brought him to meet someone safe. Raphael, these are my friends. This is Aziraphale and Captain Crowley and Pepper and Brian and Wensley and Adam. And this is Prince Newton and Queen Anathema.”

Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat as he slowly approached them. “Hello Raphael,” he said slowly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Raphael looked him over, slowly examining the first of the new strangers. “I like your eyes,” he decided after a moment.

“Thank you, that’s very nice of you to say.” He touched the boy’s arm gently before turning to Crowley. “What do you think dear? He is our nephew.”

“Wouldn’t it be painful to have him around?” Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No reason to blame him for the sins of his mother and father Anthony. We of all people know that.” His voice was sweet, and he was beginning to turn those blue eyes on him. 

Oh those eyes. They were his one weakness. He was going to crack. “Not my call anymore, Angel.”

Now it was green eyes turning on Adam. “He needs a family just like the rest of us did,” Warlock nudges.

“There’s no way I can say no, is there?” Adam sighed, but there was no bite in his words and a smile pulled at his lips.

“None whatsoever,” Warlock nodded, handing Raphael off to Aziraphale who took him on his hip with a warm smile.

“Welcome to married life,” Crowley teased, nudging Adam with his elbow before following Aziraphale upstairs to hunt for things to pack for the new addition to their family.

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all comments are valued and appreciated, from constructive criticism, to incoherent rambling, to the humble '<3' I reply to every single one.
> 
> Come bother me on tumblr over @ senseofenterprise


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